


Wanderers Relic

by Naxine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Post-Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naxine/pseuds/Naxine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am able to tell the difference between reality and fantasy.” She snaps, “Are you Aeron?” </p>
<p>Still grieving the loss of his brother, Aeron guards the camp when histroy seems destined to repeat itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanderers Relic

**Author's Note:**

> Short story I wrote for an English assignment. Please leave feedback and tell me if you spot any mistakes :).

Flickering flames dance on the wood releasing tendrils of wispy smoke that float into crisp air. I throw another handful of shimmering black powder into the flames which whoosh higher illuminating the darkness before settling back comfortably into the earth. The musky scent of burning wood fills my nose as my eyelids droop lower.   
“Oi! Lazy!” a voice booms out.   
“What do you want Kizzy?” I mumble blinking dumbly.  
She prowls towards me, thick strands of wild bushy hair escape from the bandana and fall on her freckled face that is now sneering a mere inch from mine.   
“Mama thought you would sleep through guard duty,” her dark glinting eyes narrow even further, “again.”   
Blood rushes to my face as I stare intently at my bare feet avoiding her piercing gaze.   
“It won’t happen again.”  
“Bloody right it won’t,” a feral grin graces her lips, “besides sitting in the caravan is boring.”  
“Out here is so much better.” I comment dryly but shuffle over obligingly leaving room on the rotting log for Kizzy. She flops down next to me with a cat like grin, the ornate bells crudely sewn on the end of her crumpled skirts chime cheerfully and her bracelets jangle as they slide down her skeletal arm from where they had been hiding under the mass of flowered fabric. 

“Why are you actually here?” I ask.   
“You know that Mama sent me.”  
“Liar.” I drawl flicking ash from my dirt encased fingers.   
“I thought I could hear a boy screaming.” She confesses.   
I wince, thinking of the many dark nights her wails of grief and fear had woken the camp. She sees the change in my expression and a scowl darkens her face, “I am able to tell the difference between reality and fantasy.” She snaps, “Are you Aeron?”   
I don’t acknowledge the jab and take her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.   
“Is this about Bran?”   
“I think about him all the time. If I had just been there a bit sooner, if I had made him stay with Mama in the carav-.”

Crack!  
A loud snap comes from the trees and I jump from the log drawing my hand back resting my hand on the sleek hilt of my knife.   
“It was probably just one of the wolves.” I say nonchalantly but the hairs on the back of my neck refuse to be at rest and I can’t shake the ill ease that churns in my stomach. My calm words work however and the tense line of Kizzy shoulders relaxes.   
“Pests.” She murmurs fondly.  
Gentle beams of starlight reflect off the protective gems making them glow as if the goddess herself had come down from her palace and touched them. I crouch down adjusting the stones allowing more light to filter through. Nothing was getting in tonight.   
“I wasn’t your fault you know, what happened to Bran. That thing,” I spit the word venomously, “should have never entered.”  
Despite knowing this is true I can’t help the twinge of bitterness towards my sister, she should have kept him safe. He should be here, running round the fire with Papa and I, dancing merrily to the lilting tune of the pan flute. He should be here dazzling the young ones with disappearing coins and tales of the future. He should be here, with us, his family. 

Thump!   
A flock of birds take to the air their squawking amplified by the dead silence of the night. I grip the smooth hilt of my knife as tightly as I can, my breath coming out in short pants that seem, in the silence, deafeningly loud.   
“I-it can’t be we drove out a hoard of them only two sunsets ago.” I say incredulously.   
“We could be approaching some ruins of the old cities.” Kizzy replies, rubbing the woven yarn of her oversized earrings. I touch my own briefly sending a quick prayer to the goddess.   
There is a loud rustling from the forest fringe and small boy runs into the clearing his blue eyes wide and filled with tears. ‘He is so young.’ I think, my vision of his tiny figure being warped by licks of flames.   
“He looks like Bran.” I whisper in awe.  
“He looks like you.”  
He does a bit I guess, with his mop of dark hair long and untidy small twigs stuck in its depths. That however is where our similarities end. He is clearly from behind one of the walls, what with his freckle free pale skin and his strange clothes that are without a single patch to keep them together. He trembles and whimpers where he stands, head snapping left and right looking anywhere but directly at us, not daring to come towards forward but not wanting to go back.   
“Hey! Are you okay?” I shout, putting my knife back in its holster.   
He opens his mouth to speak when.

SNAP!  
The undead creature lurches from the forest into the clearing its tattered clothes drape down its body; the clothes near indistinguishable from the rancid rotting skin. Matted hair, clumped together with the blood of victims, falls from its bent head into its unseeing cloudy eyes.   
“We have to help.” I say, already beginning to scramble to where the boy is crouching in fear.   
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Kizzy snaps, pulling me back behind the safety of the fire, “We have to go back to alert the camp.”   
Volcanic rage fills my chest, bubbling at the surface ready to spill out as I spot the undead monster approach the child.   
“By that time he will be dead.”  
“Not. Our. Problem.”  
“What if it was Bran?”   
Kizzy goes stock still, her eyes wide with hurt. There is no time to apologise. I wrench my arm out of her now slack grip and race towards the child.  
“Help!” he wails, dodging the creature as it lurches towards him, drool running from its crooked yellow teeth down one of the many open wounds on its dislocated jaw.   
The creature senses me arriving and turns giving me its full attention. A feral growl escapes my lips as my anger at Kizzy transforms into adrenaline. I duck as it lifts one misshapen arm and swipes towards me missing my face by mere inches. I thrust my knife forward tearing gashes of flesh from its arm and stomach as it moves forward undeterred by what should be mortal wounds. The ground slants down and I take the opportunity presented slicing the neck and the head rolls away still leering grotesquely.   
I run over to where Kizzy was protecting the boy and he pulls me into a bone crushing hug.   
“Thank you so much.” He says, his voice stifled by the fabric of my shirt.  
“Hey now,” I say smiling as I wipe a stray tear from his eye, “you can come and stay with us in camp where you will be safe.”  
He nods and I take his hand, my heart melting a bit as he sucks his thumb innocently. Our family can finally be complete again.   
Unbeknownst to me, the boy subtly adjusts his shirt over his stomach concealing the fresh wound of a bite mark.


End file.
